


A Day in the Life of Rude

by Tyramir



Series: A Day in the Life of... [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drama, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pancakes, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Sparring, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyramir/pseuds/Tyramir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day a man works for Shinra always turns out to be 'one of those days,' and this one is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Life of Rude

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Alas, I don't own Final Fantasy. This is a story about the Turks about… two weeks prior to FF7.

_9:17 am_

"You need to get laid," Reno said.

Rude turned to look at his red-haired companion, who was absently twirling a lit cigarette between his fingers with his right hand, while snapping the sound of a tune with his left. Reno moved his whole body about in a rhythm to the beat he was snapping, dancing as if they hadn't just been in a firefight where four low-level mob enforcers were gunned down. Rude just looked at him, not frowning, not smiling, not grimacing, not  _anything._  That's just the way he was. Nothing bothered him. Not the gunfight the two Turks had just participated in, and most certainly not his partner's odd behaviour afterwards.

Reno, on the other hand, was an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder case gone horribly, horribly wrong. And not just OCD. Probably ADD, as well. The man wasn't right in the head. He was easily amused, always had to be moving when he wasn't on a mission or drinking, could be distracted by anything that was the least bit shiny, couldn't keep his mouth shut, and was a general pain in the ass. If you took a normal man, and stripped him of his inhibitions, common sense, and empathy for his fellow man, and dyed his hair bright red, you'd nearly have Reno. To the new Turk-in-training Elena, who had been left back at the offices, Reno was a psychotic who was probably going to get her killed some day. To Tseng, the Turk Commander, Reno was considered a 'test', delivered to him from Leviathan, the Wutaian Sea God. The red-haired Turk was a way to instil patience and discipline into all of those who ever had the displeasure of working with him. And to Rude, Reno was his partner, and that was good enough.

All the same, Rude ignored Reno's comment and holstered his gun, moving from body to body, making sure each man was dead. The two Turks had been sent to clean the house out, expecting to find members of Avalanche judging from the 'intelligence' Heidegger had handed them. Instead, they'd found a safe house for some members of the mob, and the occupants of the house, seeing Turk blue, opened fire, figuring that Shinra's private assassins gave a damn about them. Turks: Four. Mobsters: Zero.

The place was a dump, but that didn't bother the bald-headed Turk. The slums in general were one huge dump, and Rude, like most of the Turks that had ever been, at one point had lived in the slums. He bent down, checked the pulse of one of the downed thugs, found a heartbeat, and casually delivered a solid punch to the man's throat.

"I'm tellin' you…" Reno said, "You need to lighten up. Find yourself a lady. That one chick Tseng had me scoping out the other day? Now she was  _fine_. Too bad she's an Ancient, eh? Gonna be one of Hojo's experiments, and she's gonna get all cut up."

A gunshot fired, and Rude turned to face his partner. Reno had drawn his gun and appeared to have decided to end the life of a wandering rat, which was now more of a stain on the wall than a living animal. The redhead's face was furious, and he sucked in ragged breaths.

Whenever Hojo was brought up, Reno always went a little nuts. Even if he was the one who frequently brought the mad scientist up in the conversation in the first place. Rude figured it had something to do with the twin scars on Reno's cheeks, but never bothered to ask. If Reno wasn't going to tell the story himself, why bother?

"Who the hell shacks up in Sector Two, anyway?" Reno demanded as he put his gun away, resumed his snapping like nothing had happened, and plugged his cigarette into his mouth. He continued, even while trying vainly to smoke and talk at the same time, "I mean, obviously not Avalanche. Two's filled with nothin' but people hopped up on hyper potions that doctors started prescribing to manic depressives a couple of years back, and wannabe bad guys like these."

Rude checked the last of the dead men, stood up, straightened his suit out, cracked his knuckles, and strode from the room. Reno made a few more complaining noises, mostly about Heidegger and various parts of his fat anatomy. Rude tuned him out. He'd heard it all before.

 

_10:03 am_

 

The two Turks walked into a restaurant called 'First Plate' in Sector One. Neither liked Sector One all that much, especially in the slums. It was the closest thing you'd ever find to pride and boastfulness in the people living beneath the plate. The population actually  _bragged_  that their sector was the first to be absorbed into Midgar, to make the 'greatest city in all the world.' Even Rude was tempted to point out repeatedly that first to join Midgar meant first to get a sector plate. And nobody liked the sector plates.

First Plate wasn't classy, but it wasn't a dive either, and that was saying a lot for the slums. The floors were not only clean, they'd been polished some time in the past week. There wasn't a window in the whole place that was even cracked, and most surprising of all, the place was fully lit up, without a single dead or dying Mako bulb. It was well enough off for one main reason: the Turks. People feared the 'men in blue', even though your average person didn't know exactly what the suit represented. They knew it meant authority, and worse, they knew it meant Shinra. But the specifics were a little hazy for the average man, and that kept street thugs, pimps and other 'bad business' out of the restaurant. And as long as these men in blue suits paid good gil, they were considered good business. And the Turks did pay good gil, especially at First Plate. So much so that they had their own private booth that nobody else ever used. Ever.

The Turks had chosen First Plate above all others for a number of reasons. It was the only restaurant willing to accommodate each Turk's… unique… requests, it was the only restaurant Reno was willing to frequent that didn't have a stripper, and it was the only restaurant in the slums that lived up to Tseng's need for cleanliness. One rookie, not even knowing that Rude, Reno and Tseng had chosen the restaurant themselves, had one time said that the Turks' relationship with First Plate went back to the days of Vincent Valentine. Although Valentine hadn't been active in almost thirty years, and the restaurant hadn't even been around for ten. Of course, Rude hadn't corrected the kid. Let the idiot prattle on about idiocy. Rude hadn't liked him all that much, and was almost relieved when the kid had taken three in the chest almost a week after that discussion.

The familiar bell rang as the door opened up, giving the place an old fashioned 'homey' feeling. The place had a black-and-white checker pattern floor, and Reno frequently would step on the tiles in a two forward, one to the side fashion that drove Rude crazy. Worse, Reno would frequently insist that Rude could only move horizontally or vertically on the tiles, and to 'stop that diagonal shit.' Whoever the rookie fourth member was would frequently get thumped by Reno whenever they tried to step more than one tile at a time, since it was absolutely clear what they were. And whenever someone tried to complain that Reno never tried to tell Tseng how to move, the red-headed Turk would flippantly say, out of Tseng's hearing, "Pfft… he's moving correctly. He is a queen after all."

Not wanting to take the hassle, Rude began moving in a perfect line towards their booth, preparing to make a ninety-degree angle turn at the last moment. Let Reno play his game, if it shut him up. This time, however, the two were interrupted on their normal trek towards their booth by a flying waitress.

The waitress wasn't exactly flying, but her near-dive from the other side of the room made it seem so. She landed firmly on Reno, knocking him from his feet, and began smothering him in kisses. The redhead responded in kind, attacking the buttons of her blouse, when Rude firmly cleared his throat.

"What?" Reno demanded, looking up from his spot on the floor.

Rude quirked an eyebrow, then deliberately looked at all the other patrons. Reno grinned lopsidedly, and the waitress stood up, as if realizing what she'd done in public. She blushed fiercely and began to straighten her hair out. Rude pointedly looked at her half-open blouse, getting an eyeful of cleavage, and even managed to read her name tag, which said, 'Candi.'

A moment later, Reno was on his feet, and without a word, picked the waitress up, slung her over his shoulder, made a caveman-like grunt, and headed into the bathroom. Realizing his partner would be a while, Rude seized his opportunity and walked the shortest route, a diagonal, towards the Turk's booth.

Another waitress came by a few minutes later, and asked if he and his partner would have the usual. The Turk nodded, and she calmly left, as if Reno's behaviour was perfectly natural. Rude kept time on his watch, and was surprised to see that Candi ran from the washroom a mere six minutes and twenty eight seconds after she'd entered it, completely in tears and readjusting her skirt. Directly behind her came Reno, who stood before the entire on looking restaurant, and casually zipped his fly, then began moving in little 'L' steps towards the booth.

"What's the record?" Reno asked upon sitting down.

Rude held up his watch, and the redhead whistled. "Entrance to break up in record time. That girl was special, spoiled me silly with how quick she let me do my business. I swear, she was like candy to me."

Rude shook his head ruefully, unsure if Reno had meant the pun or not. Likely, the redhead hadn't even known the waitress' name.

A minute later, the second waitress returned with a scowl on her face, and the first part of the usual Rude-and-Reno-Breakfast-Extravaganza. Rude took his coffee, sipped on it, and frowned. It had one cream too many and he was certain the waitress had spat in it. Across the booth, Reno attacked a plate of pancakes in front of him, which clearly had a wad of spit in the middle right on top of the slab of butter. After every bite, the redhead would put down his fork, pick up the bottle of syrup, and pour some more on. He'd follow that up by taking a swig from a twenty-sixer of whiskey. Rude often wondered when Reno's own body would finally overload from all the crap he shovelled into it.

"So anyway," Reno said, "Tseng's got me watching this Ancient chick, right?"

Rude nodded. Everyone in the 'Shinra family' knew of the search going on for the Cetra that was supposedly hiding in Midgar. What people didn't know, especially the higher ups, was that the Turks had already found her. And for now, the Turks were content not to do a damn thing about it. Rude wasn't sure why Tseng was keeping the Ancient a secret, and he didn't question it. Whatever Tseng wanted to do was his business, and Rude respected his Commander. Reno was also content to let it slide, mostly because he didn't want to be bothered with all the paperwork of reporting Tseng for insubordination.

"Like I told you," Reno said, "she's real hot. Nice body. Curves in all the right places, but not too many. I think Tseng's got the hots for her or something, and I can figure why. I wouldn't mind getting a piece of that."

Candi came by the table, a mascara stained glare directed at Reno that deepened as he mentioned the 'curvy competition', and put Rude's breakfast plate in front of him. The bald man let the closest thing to a smile he was capable of cross his face as he inhaled the aroma of a freshly grilled steak. A moment later, another plate with a salad was placed alongside it.

"Don't know how the hell you eat that shit for breakfast," Reno said as he poured another heap of syrup onto his pancakes. "Every meal's dinner for you."

Rude ignored him, carved a chunk off his steak, and forked it into his mouth. No amount of concealed spit could ruin such a breakfast.

"Anyway," the redhead continued. "So I'm watching this Ancient, and I phone it into Tseng. And he tells me  _not_  to say a damn word to President Shinra, Heidegger, and especially not Hojo. Which is just fine with me, because in order, Shinra's evil, Heidegger doesn't pay me enough, and Hojo's  _worse_  than Shinra. Long as I'm still getting a cheque, I couldn't give a damn if they don't know where she is. But it's got me a little worried. Tseng's an all right boss. What if they find out he's been hiding her?"

Rude let a breath from his nose come out harder than normal, which could almost be considered a sigh. He gave Reno a level look, one that communicated to the redhead without even the bald man even having to take off his sunglasses.

"Alright, alright," Reno said. "We stick by Tseng. I wasn't saying otherwise, I just… ah, never mind."

Rude took a sip of his coffee, then took another bite from his steak.

 

_11:41 am_

 

Rude stood in the gymnasium of Shinra Tower, dressed in a martial arts gi, a black belt with many white notches, seventeen to be precise, wrapped around his waist. Across the mat he occupied stood Elena, who wore a similar gi, but with a white belt. She was a complete novice to unarmed combat, it being her secondary weakness. Her primary being that she was completely untested in the field. She was a remarkable shot, could utilize Materia magic with the best of them, and was reputed to be able to do open heart surgery with her demolition skills. However, all of that meant nothing if she panicked while in an actual life-or-death battle.

Rude gave a small bow, and Elena responded in kind, but made sure never to take her eyes off of her teacher, her opponent. He'd already taught her that particular lesson quite painfully. He raised his arms slightly, barely balling his hands into fists. Nothing was firm about the way he stood. He was fluid, like water, waiting to turn into ice just before he struck. Elena was completely different. Her stance was traditional, rigid and obvious. He had no intention of telling her that. She'd learn that lesson for herself some day.

The fight was over before it really began. Elena threw one punch, and promptly found herself lying on her back, Rude's foot at her throat, her arm held in a lock above her.

"I give," she said weakly, and Rude grunted in disgust.

Half an hour of mock combat, nearly forty rounds of sparring, and she hadn't even come close to hitting him. Releasing her, the Turk stalked away. He picked up a water bottle that was resting on a chair, cracked it open, and took a deep drink.

"Sorry," Elena said, standing up.

He ignored her, picked up his towel, and left to take a shower.

 

_12:06 pm_

 

Rude pressed the elevator button that read 'G', clasped his hands behind his back, and overlooked the Midgar skyline through the glass wall. He felt sorry for the people in the slums. Most of them would never see it. Despite Midgar's rape of the land and buggering of the sky, the steel buildings and electronic wonders of the city looked beautiful when placed against the tapestry of the open air.

The elevator made a  _ding_ , and the doors opened. Rude turned to see a blonde man in a white suit step in, a black panther-like creature following after him. Vice President Rufus Shinra and his 'pet', Dark Nation.

Rufus pressed the button to his floor, and moved to stand beside Rude, observing the skyline as the Turk was. Dark Nation let out a yawn, lied down on the floor, and promptly fell to sleep. But not before letting out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a fart.

"Rudolph Seirath of the Turks, correct?" Rufus asked.

Rude nodded, focusing more on trying to ignore the smell coming from Dark Nation.

"I've read your file. Impressive. Master of over six different martial arts, excellent Materia user, a natural aim that would make most marksmen weep, and a kill journal that puts almost a third of Soldier combined to shame. But what's more, it says in your file that you have a reputation in the slums."

Rude quirked an eyebrow at that, turning slightly to look at the Vice President. That was the first he'd ever heard of any so-called reputation he might have. As far as he knew, he was just a man in Turk blue to the people down below.

"Your file says people are terrified of you. Of all the Turks, really. Tseng, because he represents the classic power of Shinra, of the upper class elite despite the fact that he had one time lived in the slums. Reno, because he's completely unpredictable, and is extremely trigger-happy. But you most of all, because you're… unnerving. People sense power about you, Rude, and they're scared of it. You're a large man, yet you move with the grace of a dancer. You can outfight any Heavyweight boxer in the world, and you could probably bench press a Behemoth if the rumours are to be believed. But for all this power, you never boast it, never express it with words. Even Tseng occasionally praises his own abilities. But never a word from you, Rude. Why is that?"

The Turk studied the Vice President for a moment, not sure of what to say. He certainly hadn't been expecting this conversation when he'd woken up in the morning, and anyone who knew Rude for who he was also knew that everything the Turk said was usually planned well in advance, every word carefully studied, looked over, and given a nod of approval.

Finally, Rufus smirked, and said, "Power through silence. I can see it now. Intimidating. But makes for poor leadership. When Tseng…. retires… I assume we'll have to give the Turks to Reno. A pity."

Rude gave Rufus a questioning look, and Rufus merely answered, "I suspect Tseng's days with us are numbered. A pity, too. I like the man. But I've looked over his profile, and it's only a matter of time. The man, for all his supposed narcissism, actually loathes himself. He's prone to falling in love with women he shouldn't, women that are either 'above him', or women who would want nothing to do with him, or women who are in love with someone else. He hangs back and lets you and Reno handle all the easy missions, but once a dangerous one comes up, he takes the forefront. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someday Tseng were to die in a foolish attempt to kill the devil himself, to be some sort of hero."

The elevator made a  _ding_ , the doors slid open, and Rufus left, Dark Nation rising and trailing after him.

_What the hell was that about?_

 

_1:00 PM_

 

Rude carried a doggie bag of burgers from his lunch run in his left hand, and kept his right at his side. His fingers twitched, as if eager to dip into the front of his suit, draw his gun, and blow some holes in something. Normally, he wasn't this trigger-happy. But after having to put up with the line-ups in McChocobo's for twenty minutes, he suddenly understood Reno's desire to kill all children.

There was nothing redeeming about the whole lot of them. They were loud, they smelled, they demanded attention, and they couldn't keep to themselves. One such child, a spoiled brat if Rude had ever seen one, had made a game of running around his legs while he patiently stood in line, and one time had even ran between them. If Reno had been there, he would have hit the kid with a few hundred volts from his 'mag-rod and sent him on his way. If it'd been Tseng, he would have smiled at the mother with those perfect pearly teeth of his and charmed her to discipline her child once and for all. Rude, however, was an all or nothing kind of guy. He either endured it, or he killed it.

Luckily for the child, he'd chosen to endure, despite his frequent fantasies of picking the kid up by one leg and repeatedly swinging him face first into a wall.

Rude was nearly in sight of Shinra Tower walking down a back alley when he felt it. A light tickling on the back of his neck, barely there. He didn't think, just dodged to the side, slamming himself into the wall of the alley. The sound of a couple whistle-like  _whiff_ noises filled the air, and he ducked down, grabbed a nearby garbage can and threw it in the direction of whoever was shooting at him.

His mind began to take notes as he ducked behind a dumpster. Broad daylight, one man, gun, silencer, and a laser pointer, too. That laser pointer, oddly enough, had been what saved Rude's life. The light tickling, barely there, only sensed from over-training, had been from the beam of light brushing against his skin.

Times were obviously getting rough if some idiot with a gun thought he could kill a Turk in the middle of the day.

Rude knew that if he raised his head from the dumpster, he was dead. Worse, he left all his Materia back at the office, since he didn't think McChocobo's would be threatening enough to warrant carrying Materia. Last time he'd make that mistake.

Sighing, Rude reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his lucky grenade. He had been hoping to give it to any kids he had one day, but after his stint in McChocobo's, he now knew reproducing was out of the question. The Turk pulled the pin, waited two seconds, then lobbed it over the dumpster. Training said you waited three seconds before pulling. Experience said, with Shinra products, you always waited two.

Two seconds later, which was one second too soon according to the design specs, the grenade went off. Drawing his gun, Rude dove from the dumpster and looked about. The only threat left in the alley was stepping in would-be assassin pieces.

Rude decided not to mention the event to Tseng. He hated paperwork.

 

_3:37 pm_

 

Rude sat now at his desk, writing up a report about the morning's events with the mobsters. Despite not telling Tseng about the altercation in the alleyway, he still found himself doing paperwork. He didn't like doing the reports, but it was better him than Reno. If the redhead were left to his own devices writing a report, Tseng would undoubtedly receive a scribble of the two Turks killing some stick figures on a napkin from First Plate.

The bald Turk, after having written several revisions of the events of the morning, decided to keep the report brief. Brief by his standards. It read, quite simply:

Received intelligence from Heidegger Avalanche was residing in Sector Two. Operatives Reno and Rude investigated, but found low-level mob enforcers instead. Four dead, no Shinra personnel wounded. Request better intelligence in the future.

It was the closest thing he'd ever been to writing something flippant, but he was beginning to have 'one of those days.' Poor Intel from Heidegger, Reno questioning Tseng's orders, waitresses spitting in his coffee, being stuck training a complete rookie in hand-to-hand combat, weird conversations with Rufus and his gassy pet, noisy little kids, and someone trying to kill him. He wondered what the day would throw him next.

As if to challenge him, the door to the office swung open sharply, banging into the wall. Rude looked up to see Scarlet, who quickly grabbed the rebounding door and slammed it shut behind her.

"Where's Reno?" she demanded.

Rude shrugged, and she let out an exasperated groan.

"Quick," she said. "Stand up."

Complying, Rude stood from his seat. Scarlet nearly ran across the room in her hurry to get to him. She stood on her toes so she could get as close to his face as she could, forced him to lift his arms, then stepped away. She did a spinning motion with one finger, and Rude, knowing what was going on from having seen her do it with Reno before, complied, slowing turning about for her while she admired the show. When his back was turned, he felt a cold sting as she slapped his rear, and managed with his full discipline not to jump or act the least bit startled.

When he was done, the Shinra executive had a devilish smile on her face. "You'll do. Sex. Now."

For a woman so small, he wasn't sure how she managed to overpower him and pin him to the desk. In a moment, he found it difficult to breathe, as it seemed Scarlet was attempting to suck his air, tongue, and possibly internal organs from his mouth with hers. He felt her hand fumbling around at his belt, and decided to go with it.

He regretted that decision a second later when the door opened up and Reno and Tseng, accompanied by Reeve, walked in. Reno immediately whistled his appreciation, while Reeve quickly turned away. Tseng crossed his arms, and a look of disapproval came over his face.

"Ahem," he said.

Rude quickly stood up, nearly knocking Scarlet off from him and onto the floor. She would have fallen gracelessly if she hadn't had one hand latched firmly around his neck. Scarlet, realizing what had just happened after a moment, let go and dropped to the floor. She stumbled for a moment, then straightened herself out, smoothed out her clothes, brushed back her hair, and lifted her chin.

Then, with perfect dignity, as if she hadn't been caught doing anything improper, she said, "Yes, Tseng?"

"I was wondering if you'd be so nice as to give us our office back if you're done with it. Most notably Rude's desk."

Scarlet looked at Rude, looked at the desk, then back to Tseng, and said, "Oh, I suppose."

Rude began fumbling with his belt, trying to get it to clip back into place while Scarlet walked away. Before exiting the room, she stopped, looked Reeve over, and said, "You'll do."

She then grabbed the man and dragged him from the room.

Tseng's self-discipline had always been said to be a thing of great mystery and power, because it wasn't until a full five minutes later that he began laughing hysterically.

 

_6:29 PM_

 

Six 0'clock. Technically the end of the day. Rude looked at his watched and nearly frowned. Turks ran 24/7, always working, but officially at six pm, work was done. The office was closed, and you'd be lucky if you could find any Turk in the Shinra Tower, including dutiful Tseng, once that magical hour hit unless ordered otherwise. Of course, they always had their cell phones and beepers on. Those were two hooks from Shinra that would never release from Turk flesh.

Reno actually had at one point found in the Turk handbook, as written by Tseng, that it was a crime sentence-able of two years in prison for a Turk to allow their cell phone's batteries to die unless under extraneous circumstances. The Turks were  _always_ on call.

But even though the Turks were technically off duty, Tseng was undoubtedly watching the Ancient at that very moment. Reno was probably looking into candidates for Soldier in all the wrong places. More than likely a singles club. Elena was probably doing all sorts of filing and reorganizing and studying of records to impress Tseng.

And Rude? Rude was investigating Avalanche. But in a far different way than anyone knew. He wasn't in Sector Two like intelligence reported that Avalanche was making their base. Nor was he doing surveillance on the reactors, like common sense told one to do when looking for ecological terrorists.

Instead, Rude was in a bar in Sector Seven named Seventh Heaven. He sat in a corner, minding his own business, purposely not eavesdropping on any conversations going on in the bar. He was too far to hear if he wanted to anyway. He didn't like the conflict of interest, and had long since resolved not to put himself in a conflict of interest situation. Tseng was already caught up in one of those. Why should a second Turk be in one?

Tseng had his Cetra girl in a pink dress to look out after, a girl he'd probably fallen in love with that he considered was 'above him.' A girl he could never have, and he'd done it because, like Rufus said, Tseng probably hated himself, and viewed it as a kind of punishment.

Rude took a drink from the glass sitting in front of him, and watched the lithe movements of the bartender. He didn't know her name, but he knew her face. She'd been seen in some Avalanche activities, and a small file was done up on her. And the first time he'd seen that face… he had to see it for real. And when he'd found her… he couldn't report her.

She was beautiful. Long, brown hair, deep eyes that  _spoke_  to you, and a ready smile made her unbelievably attractive. Most men looked at her breasts and drooled, and while Rude found them nice, it wasn't the main attribute he liked. She was soft, yet hard. She had that city-girl look, but a country-girl feel. She seemed naïve and innocent, but the way she moved, he knew she was a fighter. To the Turk, she was perfect.

So Rude sat in the corner, minding his own business, purposely not listening to the large black man talking to a guy with a bandana wrapped around his head, and a girl who had blackened fingertips as if she'd played with one too many bombs in her time. His day had been bad enough as it was. He didn't need to hear about whatever they were planning and then feel obliged to report it. As far as Shinra was concerned, he'd just found a pretty girl.

He stayed at the bar for a few hours, like he always did, not saying a word, just nursing several drinks as the night progressed. He liked the way the bartender looked, the way she moved. She reminded him of his last girlfriend, the last time he'd mixed business with pleasure. That hadn't ended well, either, and he was sure if anything came of this, it wouldn't turn out all daisy fields and beautiful skylines either.

Finally, as midnight hit, Rude stood up, took one last drink, nodded to the bartender, and left Seventh Heaven.

And as the night air hit him outside, said, "I need to get laid."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated. Also, I have a book now, Red Blossoms the Sky, which can be found in my works on this site! Please read and comment!


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